Barcelona's Primavera Sound Festival is a rare treat indeed. Set a stone's throw from the Mediterranean and traditionally bathed in glorious sunshine, it's the kind of soiree where the bands could almost be incidental. That is, if the organisers didn't consistently assemble bills that make our domestic offerings look rather embarrassing. This year's was no different, and here's the highlights our intrepid writing team came back babbling excitedly about.

Aphex Twin

Aphex Twin live = unpleasant exercise in difficult glitchcore? No way! Against the odds, Aphex delivers a surprisingly palatable pretty-much-greatest hits set. A silhouetted figure piloting his beats, he twiddles behind a widescreen TV messing with machines we can't see. There’s every chance he’s checking his email. Vaguely wobbly sounds are subsumed into what's often a fairly straight techno set, far more accessible than his wilfully obscure reputation would suggest. He drops darkly familiar selections like ‘Fingerbib’ among a stream of ever-changing but always engaging head nodders. The visuals compensate for his lack of stage presence, with pretty mouths getting mutilated and photocopies of faces oscillating wildly. Midway through it starts to sound a bit dated, ‘IDM’ circa 1996 with added party bleeps, but it helps that he doesn’t stick around with his selections. Tempos shift and different textures are snapped into the mix every 30 seconds or so. He’s not going to be playing weddings anytime soon, but Richard D James gives Primavera more to dance to than anyone could have expected. Thom Gibbs

Bat For Lashes

Anyone with prior reservations about Bat For Lashes' ability to command a stage the size of Primavera's Estrella Damm are fools. That much is clear from opener 'Glass'' first chiming chorus; not only is her delivery spot on but she looks like she's well and truly at home up there, stalking the stage and delivering her ethereal set with the sort of gusto a first album Natasha Khan might have baulked at. She's grown as a performer and a songwriter since then, that much is clear, and whether the slightly more electronic direction of second album Two Suns is one that strikes a chord with you or not, the pop brilliance of a song like 'Daniel' is practically irrefutable. And, let's face it, a set filled with 'Sarah's and 'Prescilla's probably isn't quite what a beer-filled festival crowd is looking for. A canny move, then, and one that our ears are left thankful for this evening. And is that Charlotte Hatherley up there with her? Why, yes. Bonus. John Roberts

Black Lips

It’s 3am, and it’s the last night of the festival. Black Lips are on their third show of the day and are clearly somewhat inebriated, although they claim they have been pacing themselves. From the off, it feels like it’s going to be ‘one of those shows’. They blast through a set that by their standards and duration as a band, would class as a greatest hits. They groan and moan at the soundmen for something or other in between songs, even muttering “Worst sound ever”. They are dishevelled, drunk and raucous but by now that almost seems like a staple part of their act, or certainly a staple part of what people want to see in their act. Luckily, their ramshackle approach has a charming affect on the music and they get away with it. Cole spends half the time spitting phlegm into the air and catching it in his mouth, they roll around on the floor, kiss one another, get their dicks out and jump into the crowd and then go home, as do we. Delighted or disturbed? I’m not quite sure. Dan Wray

Photo: Black Lips by Toby Price

Crystal Stilts

Primavera 2009's Worst Banter award goes hands down to Wavves, but, early on in their early evening set, we're thinking hype-merchants Crystal Stilts might run them close. What is that keyboard player gibbering on about? He redeems himself with a Pitchfork jibe later ("I give the soundguy 8.8, the Mediterranean 8.3 and you guys 8.6" - scores approximate), which is only really amusing because they're playing on the website's stage, but even so he'd would do well to button it and let his band deliver the tunes because when they do, the material from ace debut LP Alight Of Night sounds nothing short of fantastic. There's traces of ...Bunnymen here, smatterings of surf-rock and Doors organ there but, essentially, it's just good old fashioned rock 'n' roll given a modern twist. For sure, there's a lot of it around, but not a lot that sounds as good as 'The SinKing' does today. John Roberts

Deerhunter

Deerhunter seem to have quietly and gracefully elevated to themselves to a level I was unaware of. As they take to the stage, they are faced with a rather huge and embracing crowd. There is a certain dignity displayed by Deerhunter that is both enriching and refreshing, and tonight this is evident more than ever: Bradford is humble, gracious and very excited that he just saw Neil Young. They seem genuinely grateful to be here and this reflects in their performance. They are polished, precise and pensive. ‘Never Stops’ is a particular joy to behold, it hangs and drifts seamlessly through the muggy Spanish evening leaving a blissful resonance. At just past midnight on the last evening, it feels like this song was just right for the moment, and leaves a lasting and glowing sensations that reminds you what festivals are all about. Dan Wray

Gang Gang Dance

After their gear got destroyed in a February fire and they cancelled a UK tour scheduled for that same month, it felt like DiS was fated to miss out on seeing the Brooklyn (experi)mentalists do their stuff for the foreseeable future. Our hearts skipped a beat when we saw their name on the Primavera bill, and tonight we're left pretty much suffering from palpitations, such is the fervour of their live show. It's all underpinned by a wonderfully furious tribal rhythm, from which melodies and Liz Bougatsos' manic vocals spin and loop into our ears via the ether, and as soon as the first beat drops, the band name makes instant sense. In just three words, it does what we'll probably struggle to do in five times that, e.g. encapsulate their stunning oeuvre. Ok, put it this way: this writer wasn't fussed about missing two thirds of Sonic Youth in order to catch them. John Roberts

Jarvis Cocker

The man, the legend. Of course, Jarvis Cocker's at the point in his career now where it wouldn't really matter if he churned out crap solo records - people would still buy them in droves, and he could line yet another wardrobe with cheap-looking-but-no-doubt-probably-quite-expensive suits. Do a Morrissey, if you will. Newie Further Complications doesn't fit that brief even slightly, though, because Jarv just ain't that kind of guy. Nor, we doubt, is he really the kind of guy he sings about on 'I Never Said I Was Deep' either: "I never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow/My lack of knowledge is vast, and my horizons are narrow" claims El Cocker, but we think he's being disingenuous, as is his wont. What's stone cold certain is that, tonight, the likes of 'Angela' and the new record's title track rock hard enough to make us forget about all about that famous Sheffield band he was once in. The Arctics seem to be doing pretty well without him, to be fair... John Roberts

Photo: Jarvis Cocker by Toby Price

The Horrors

Hopes were high and expectations had soared for this; one of The Horrors' early festival appearances of the year. They take to the stage at 1.45am, all in black and white, in front a good-sized crowd and tear through new album Primary Colours in its entirety. It's atmospheric, shrill and, at times, piercing. They only touch on ‘Count In Fives’ and ‘Sheena Was A Parasite’ from their debut LP, but even those songs feel like they've had a new lease of life pumped into them, demonstrating what appears to be a truly revitalised and reinvented band. Technical issues cause Faris to have a bit of a strop, and it did break the flow of the set somewhat. His voice is perhaps the band's largest drawback; he simply can’t match the production values of the album. But the strength and delivery of the new material alone overcomes this fact, and by the time they close with ‘Sea Within A Sea’ any shortcomings are forgotten. If the Primavera crowd's ecstatic and emphatic response is anything to go by, we may just be about to witness the most peculiar festival anthem of the year. And it sure as hell beats people shouting “Gay Bar” all summer. Dan Wray

The Jesus Lizard

The Jesus Lizard pummel the weekend's first proper moshpit into wet, messy abandon with their muscular bass-heavy rockers. Essentially the inventors of Shellac and several of their followers, there’s something looser about the Jesus Lizard sound, something a bit more suggestive of ‘partytime’. Their Catalan fans are happy to provide an improbable good-time atmosphere for music that sounds cruel and cold in isolation. David Yow, the kind of compact sweaty anger merchant who could still destroy you after 10 pints, yelps whole songs while surfing the shoulders of the front rows. ‘Boilermaker’ is especially brutal. Watching from the steep steps to the side of the ATP stage, I feel like a cop-out. Thom Gibbs

My Bloody Valentine

When My Bloody Valentine played the opening night of the festival outside I lost count of the amount of people I saw with their fingers in their ears during the holocaust section of ‘You Made Me Realise’. On the second night, MBV take this deafening pleasure indoors, into the Auditori. It takes about an hour to get in, but good god is it worth it. This was my first indoor MBV experience, and - strangely - it has never been so satisfying to leave a gig having seen and heard exactly what you expected to. I chose not to wear the distributed earplugs as, truth be told, I wanted to be violated in some capacity. They didn't disappoint. ‘Only Shallow’ provides the sort of epiphany that probably strikes a lot of people during MBV shows: “I’ve never heard anything like this before”. It's enlightening, perplexing and disorientating, all at once. At times, it's like standing naked in the eye of the storm, left completely powerless. Once outside, it takes about thirty minutes before I stop shouting and began to feel normal again. Dan Wray

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart seem to have become somewhat of a personal guilty pleasure of late; on record they seem that little bit too sickly, and just too darn infectious. This seems to have spread amongst listeners and shaped and altered perceptions of the group (or certainly within circles I have encountered). However, tonight they surpass any expectations I had by a long shot. They make quite a wonderful racket, and considering this festivals line-up was particularly ‘noise’ heavy, they do a fine job of elevating themselves towards the standards of their mentors. Against the odds, they succeed in doing just what My Bloody Valentine, and Sonic Youth do; they tread that wonderful line between melody and noise, teetering close to the edge but always retaining a balance. Songs such as ‘Come Saturday’ feel meatier and more substantial, without losing any of the charm or pop sensibility. They're a joy, and an unpredicted highlight of the festival. Dan Wray

Phoenix

Phoenix do a brilliant perk-up job on a flagging audience in front of the massive Rockdelux stage. Imperial recent single ‘1901’ pulls off the New Order trick of being so stacked with brilliant individual components that it can't help but succeed, and it helps that they’re scheduled as a late night headliner, making their set a proper event rather than some inane diversion while the sun's still out. Thomas Mars has a magnificently smooth fucker-voice, coming off like the good-looking bastard who stole your girlfriend’s heart on holiday who you can’t help warming to. His array of affected vocal tics and hiccups should be grating, instead they're sweet, especially after a day of muddy sonic assault elsewhere. ‘Run Run Run’ is a gorgeously intricate pop song, and ‘Funky Squaredance’ is all-out silly, overblown without being arch. One of the weekend’s unexpected triumphs. Thom Gibbs

Shellac

The Shellac live experience could easily lend itself to an I-Spy book. Shellac bingo would reward you with 5 points for every Steve Albini scowl, 15 for group dismantling of the drumkit while Todd Trainer is still playing, and 1,000 for girls outnumbering boys in the first 10 rows. There’s a reassuring sense of routine attached to seeing them on their seemingly neverending summer tour of events closely allied to the acronym ATP. Crucially, the most reliable constant is that they’re bloody good. This evening their muscular, raw rockers whip the inevitably male-heavy pit into a frenzy. Their all-important guitar tone is slightly compromised by the fact they’re not using their self-built amps, but that can’t stop ‘My Black Ass’ from snarling with vile menace, ‘Copper’ from exploding at a rate inversely proportional to how interested Bob Weston looks to be in playing it. Musically, Shellac deliver maximum impact from all parts at all times. Todd Trainer is especially amazing, looking like an aging hipster injected with pure rage as he relentlessly batters his kit. ‘The End Of Radio’ feels neverending tonight, repetitive in the best possible way. Cult-like. The reverence of the crowd is apt for one of the most consistently brilliant live bands of the decade. Thom Gibbs

Women

Women do post-indie rock with steely, introverted purpose. Guitars are mangled until they sound like screams over Kraut-indebted drum pounds. Sneakily tuneful vocals suggest better melodies are being kept in reserve. They make an excursion towards Deerhunter-style dirty ballads towards the end of their set which is pretty ill-advised, but they occasionally excel in their Abe Vigoda-esque comfort zone . ‘Shaking Hands’ is built around the words "Same as you" in a blissful interlocking refrain. Languid guitar licks are traded over motor-powered drums, and a set that looked in danger of dangling towards a messy death five minutes previously is emphatically redeemed. Next up is Girls, then the Tallest Man On Earth, then Bowerbirds. LOL, Primavera organisational team. Thom Gibbs